"Match Point" is Woody Allen's most satisfying film since "Bullets Over Broadway" (1994) and his most compelling since "Crimes and Misdemeanors" (1989). Philosophically and plotwise, it's right in line with some of his previous work. Yet "Match Point" breaks new ground in a handful of significant ways: For one, there is no Woody Allen surrogate. For another, he gets out of New York, and something about being in London and using British actors frees him of the tics and cliches -- the barnacles -- that have accumulated around his art.

At the same time -- and longtime Allen fans especially will find this interesting -- "Match Point" shows that even when Allen seemed to be stagnating, he was growing. In "The Curse of the Jade Scorpion," "Hollywood Ending" and "Melinda and Melinda," Allen explored a staccato style of quick, pointed scenes that began in action, advanced the story and then just as quickly ended. Not one of those films had a story that could reveal the effectiveness of that approach, but "Match Point" does. And with it, Allen's mature technique comes into focus: Direct, clipped, unsparing.

"Match Point" is plot driven, not character driven, and generous in the sheer amount of story presented. It follows the social climb and romantic tribulations of an Irish tennis pro-turned-instructor who comes into the inner circle of a fabulously wealthy English family. Through his work at a posh London tennis club, Chris (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) meets Tom (Matthew Goode), happily rich and blithe, who takes a liking to him. Tom brings Chris to his parents' box at the opera, where Chris meets Tom's sister Chloe (Emily Mortimer). Chloe falls in love with Chris almost immediately.

"Match Point" is a film that deserves a second viewing. Allen covers a lot of story very quickly, and at first glance there's a tendency to look upon Chris as a fellow to whom things simply happen. In fact, as played by Meyers, Chris always is aware of his opportunities and always is playing a kind of mental tennis with people. He may not have a grand design, but he always knows where he is placing the ball and what he hopes to achieve. This quality, though subtle, is there from the beginning, and so it should not come as a jolt when Chris, visiting his rich new friends in their home, suddenly makes a bold play for a young woman within seconds of meeting her.

The electric encounter between Chris and Nola (Scarlett Johansson) over a ping-pong table is Allen's answer to "A Place in the Sun," in which Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor did their mating dance over a pool table. In this case, both parties are poor and off-limits: Nola, a struggling American actress, turns out to be Tom's fiancee, and Chris is about to embark on a relationship with Tom's sister. But the attraction is there.

Nola and Chris recognize the climber in each other, as well as a certain desperate life force that their partners, raised in comfort, lack. They're also the most kissable people in the movie, with the best mouths.

It might seem as if I've revealed a lot of the story of "Match Point," but be assured I've told very little, just enough to identify Johansson's role in the action. I'll stop here, except to make the general note that there's no out-guessing "Match Point," that the movie goes its own way, always fascinating, often skipping months and even a year at a time without making a fuss, as if maintaining an intense yet detached scrutiny of the characters. Unlike a Bergman film, "Match Point" is not about emotions, not really; rather, it's the conveyor of an ultimately simple philosophical proposition about the all-important role of random luck in life and thus the implicit absence, according to Allen, of any overarching moral order. Despite that, the strange, fierce detachment of its gaze calls to mind Bergman.

The film contains references to Dreiser, Strindberg and Dostoyevsky, and these references are more than just clever. They're all there for a reason, though trying to figure the specific reasons will keep viewers busy until the finish. Allen never reveals more than necessary. Even the genre can't be identified until the finish: Is it a noir? A class study? A romance? A tragedy? Even once it's over, it's not easy to categorize.

In a film as constructed as this one, the actors are secondary, but they're important. As Chris' trusting lover, Mortimer acquires a loveliness as she goes along. She does this willfully. This is an attractive actress who subtly galumphs through her first scenes and just as quietly transforms. Johansson, by contrast, is a powerhouse from the word go. The role calls for sexiness but also demands a lack of vanity, and Johansson hits every note. She has a (slightly) drunken scene with Meyers in which she so perfectly conveys the thought processes of her character, both muddled and sharp, that she borders on astonishing.

But Meyers is the one. He is in almost every scene, and even when it looks as if he's not he's doing much, he's doing plenty. In between getting caught up in the story, take time to appreciate the understated specificity of Allen's craft and of Rhys-Meyers' performance. It's worth it.